


nocturne

by leilariddle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballet AU, Gen, Praise, Teasing, ballet kink maybe, french culture and attempts at being funny, turns a bit angsty bc drarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 18:44:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15249657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leilariddle/pseuds/leilariddle
Summary: Someone comes back to Harry's life, hidden in the form of a mystery dancer. Reality and French stuff ensue.





	nocturne

Harry had already lost count of how many times he had tugged on his tie, which was definitely trying to choke him, since they had arrived. His new pair of shoes weren't helping at all either, so he had no other choice but to shift his feet slightly, trying not to draw Ginny's attention. Although Harry suspected that it would take absolutely nothing for that, given that his girlfriend couldn't take her eyes off the stage, not even to look where her hand was going as she picked up her wine glass and sipped on it absentmindedly. Harry, on the other hand, thought that there was another life threat, apart from his tie; boredom. He remembered when, exactly a week ago, Ginny had practically bursted into their apartment with a shit-eating grin on her face and her brown eyes gleaming with excitement. Harry had been watching whatever movie had caught his eye, but after that second where his heart seemed to have twisted upside down in shock, he couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh and a smile at seeing it had been only his pink-cheeked girlfriend holding two tickets in her hand.

"Harry! I'm a fucking genius, you'll have to admit it. I made it!" she exclaimed, handing him one of the tickets, "see for yourself."

He hadn't needed to ask what it was. Ginny had been at it for almost two months now; it was a ballet show that a French company called "Le Majestique" would be exhibiting down at Trafalgar Square. Even better, at least for Ginny, was that the date coincided with their third year anniversary.

"Seems like this year they've got a new member," Ginny was telling him as she sat down on the sofa, staring at her ticket like a mother would with her baby. "A mystery dancer. Just some bloke who thinks he's too cool for a name, but they promise it'll be a one-time event nonetheless."

Harry snorted. "Then who the hell are we to miss it?"

****

Now Harry was regretting asking that rhetorical question like nothing before, and would've been glad if someone, anyone, had given him an answer. It's just that seeing Ginny so excited about her second new passion (besides Quidditch, Harry wasn't stupid) always made him want to indulge her into doing things like this. Saying that Harry had been surprised when Ginny came home one night last summer from a ladies-night date with Hermione and couldn't stop ranting for two hours about how the ballet was so, and he quoted, "magical and beautiful and Harry, can we go see it some other time, just you and I?", it would be a ridiculous understatement. So here they were, about to see this 'mystery dancer'. Who was taking his sweet fucking time coming out on stage, if you asked Harry and his tie and his tight new shoes. Ginny still seemed none the wiser at his predicament, and Harry decided it was all for the better, as he was trying to distract himself with his glass of champagne.

Harry realized a second too late that the lights had gone off again, signalling the beginning of the next part of the show. Now there was a black velvet curtain on the stage, undoubtedly hiding the mystery dancer behind it. Almost as if someone had read his mind, the curtain was raised to reveal a tall man with what Harry at first thought was translucent skin. Unfortunately, it was just the bright white lights shining on the dancer's slender frame. His tight black outfit, along with a silk black mask covering his face, didn't help much but they did the trick for Harry as his eyes (following Ginny's example) couldn't seem to want to leave the stage and the man dancing gracefully onto it in the near future, or never. Harry didn't know much, or at all, about ballet but he somehow knew that there was never a misstep in the dancer's routine; he moved as naturally as water flowing, endlessly. The music was a soft piano piece playing distantly, or Harry was too much captivated by the mystery dancer to pay more attention to it than necessary. What  
he did know was that he was clutching his glass for dear life with one hand and the chair with the other, perhaps to will his body to stay seated and disobey what his head really wanted to do; get closer. But the dancer kept going on and on, and what for Harry felt like hours, he had the slight suspicion that had only been a couple of minutes. Every time the dancer landed perfectly on one foot or the other, he seemed to cause uproar of applauses among the public, and Ginny's threatened to deafen Harry. But he thought that he wouldn't mind if she did, as long as he could watch the mystery dancer forever. Harry didn't have time to wonder why this particular dancer was making all the difference in the world, when he had seen many and more and none had done something that this man wasn't doing right now. But he was, and for Harry that was more than enough.

Apparently, what wasn't enough for him was the mystery dancer's routine. With another graceful landing and gracefully stretching his arms in the air, it was over before Harry's eyes. And he didn't want to think about how stupid he must be looking right now, gaping at the stage like a fish out of the sea and his green eyes as wide as they could be. When he snapped out of it, it was only to see all the dancers come out on stage again to say goodbye before the public. He could see the mystery dancer, the last one on the right, and Harry really hoped that it wasn't disappointment what he was feeling at seeing that the man hadn't removed his mask. And just like that, Ginny was standing up and touching his arm for him to do the same as Harry's mind felt like the eye of a hurricane. No, it couldn't end up like this, not when...

"Harry!"

He blinked and spun his head so quickly that he felt dizzy. Maybe he had drank too much of that champagne.

"Are you coming, babe?"

But it gave him an idea.

"Um, I gotta go to the loo first, just give me a minute."

It really was a foolproof excuse, but it seemed to work on Ginny. And Harry really hated to do this to her, but almost breathed out a sigh of relief as she told him that she would be waiting for him in the car. Harry had to know who this mystery dancer was, at least just see his face for a second. He didn't know if he would've chased the dancer backstage if he hadn't had that mask on, if Harry had seen his face, but maybe this was the reason why. So he set off backstage, trying not to elbow his way through the people leaving the theatre in his haste. But he stopped dead on his feet as he saw a guard on the hall, his job probably being to avoid people doing what Harry had been about to do. On his part, Harry spent exactly three seconds questioning and finally deciding to fling all morality out of his mind's imaginary window. The guard barely had time to try and block his way before a  
silent Confundus made him recall that he had some business elsewhere. Harry kept walking down the hall and turned right. He realized that it wasn't too hard to figure out which way he should take to the camerinos, since they all had the dancer's names on the doors.

Except one.

Harry stopped and frowned. The other rows of doors all showed names, but not this one. Just a black and polished star. If Harry hadn't been too far gone to care about decency and good manners, he would have knocked on the door. His heart started to beat furiously against his ribcage, and even more so when he saw the people inside the room. A dark-skinned man dressed in a red jacket and formal black pants was giving his back to Harry and talking with someone he was yet to see. At the sound of the door opening, the man turned around and...

No.

Harry definitely had to have been hallucinating. And it definitely crossed his mind the idea of blaming the champagne again, but somehow it seemed completely ridiculous. Because there, sitting on a chair in front of the mirror, dressed in the same black tight outfit that had captivated Harry beyond reason, was a face so familiar yet so strange that made his mouth turn dry and any words that were fighting to reach the tip of his tongue seemed wrong.

Because there was Draco Malfoy in the flesh, and Harry was about to pass out.

It didn't happen though, but Harry felt it was a close call. The look on Malfoy's face was enough indicative that he was surprised too, given that his grey eyes were double the size of what was considered normal. Harry knew that one of them eventually had to break that awkward silence that fell around them like a zillion tons of bricks, but none of them seemed too inclined to lose the staring contest. And it gave Harry some time to notice things about his former classmate: Malfoy's hair was a deal longer than the last time Harry had seen him, and judging the amount of platinum hair that made up his man-bun, Harry could bet it should reach below his shoulders once loosened. But the rest, Malfoy hadn't changed much in three years, although bags under his eyes were dark enough to make someone notice them on sight. And his skin still seemed translucent, and Harry figured he had no way to blame the lights now. The silk black mask was folded in Malfoy's lap, and his bare feet were up in a bench, followed by long elegant legs.

Harry really needed to say something.

"Malfoy."

Okay, that wasn't much to begin with.

"Potter, what are you doing here?" Malfoy's drawling seemed to be a thing of the past, as he himself had been to Harry about a lifetime ago.

Harry nodded to him. "So here you are. The mystery dancer."

Malfoy smirked and picked up the silk mask. He stood up, leaving it onto the boudoir. Harry hadn't imagined Malfoy's current height when he was sitting in that chair, but now he felt pretty stupid looking up. The blond was slim and straight as an arrow, and his grey eyes seemed to darken with the light bulb behind him.

"And here you are, stalking me all the way down my camerino. You haven't changed at all, have you?" he asked, a dark blond eyebrow arching up. And just like that, before Harry could do so much as open his mouth to say nothing, he turned away. "Jacob, could you leave us for a moment? Thank you."

The other man nodded and he was out of the door in a long stride. Harry felt even smaller now that it was the two of them, but somehow his feet were moving towards the boudoir and tried to seem casual as he leaned up against it and Malfoy went back to sitting on his chair.

"So, tell me," started Malfoy, "are you alone?"

Harry frowned for a moment, a short-lived 'yes' leaving his mind as he realized that Malfoy meant if he had come alone to the theatre.

"Um, no. Ginny's waiting for me, actually. In our car."

Malfoy sniggered. "Oh, yes, the little weasel. Figure she would be quite mad that her boyfriend is making her wait while he meets the mystery dancer. How selfish of you."

"She doesn't know, I told her I was going to the loo," stated Harry, a bit flustered. "But why? I mean, how did this come to happen?"

"It's a long story, but let's say that after the trials, I wanted a change of scenery. You would know, you've been at the Manor during the war and saw how grim of a place it was. It's not like it changed much, at least for me," Malfoy turned his gaze away from Harry's. "My parents still live there, but I've moved to France. I go visit my mother as often as I can."

Harry knew enough about bad memories, so he wasn't surprised at all. He had lost track of Draco Malfoy after the trials, it was true, and the Daily Prophet didn't seem to offer much information about the Malfoy family these days; Harry could recall some minor news from a couple of years ago about the Malfoys trying to climb their way up the Ministry's ladder with some charity works and sponsoring. But Harry figured that it would never be the same again for them, all that privilege they used to enjoy before the war lost forever, even after the pardons.

No wonder Malfoy wanted, ironically, to make a name for himself outside of his disgraced family.

"So that's where the whole ballet thing started, didn't it?" asked Harry.

Malfoy smiled. "Yes, I had taken dancing classes when I was a kid, but only not to embarrass the Malfoy name at dinner parties. It's rather a long story, and a boring one, but I took my shot at ballet and here I am. Fancy what you saw, Potter?"

Harry didn't know if it was the question or the way Malfoy had asked it, that drawl he hadn't heard since Hogwarts. Maybe it was the realization that Malfoy somehow didn't seem to be himself without it, or maybe Harry was realizing those things for a reason. 'Because you missed it, you bloody fool'. Oh, shut up. Harry cleared his throat so the same words wouldn't come out aloud.

"You were... good." Good? Harry would have punched himself if it wouldn't make him look like a madman.

"Oh, was I? I've been told I have a gift. But then, I don't recall those people breaking into my camerino to find out who I am. Can't think of a reason you'd do it if I was just 'good'."

Harry sighed. He was done with this. "What do you want me to say, Malfoy? That I think ballet is boring as hell and I didn't want to come here tonight? That Ginny loves it so much, and has been looking forward to this day for months, and was so excited to see you dance on the day of our anniversary that she wanted to share it with me because she thinks I like it but I don't want to tell her 'no, I'd rather be at the pub with our friends drinking beer in my jeans and trainers and throw this whole suit and tie and bloody new shoes to the trash'? Because today it was different. I saw you, of all people, dancing so beautifully that I don't know what to make of it, because the only word that comes to my mind is that it was magical. Is that what you want me to say? There, I said it!"

They say the third time's a charm. Harry could definitely blame the champagne going to his head now, if Malfoy wasn't looking at him like he was. Grey eyes that seemed to be staring into his soul, as if Malfoy had ripped those words out of it himself. But Harry knew that was a lie; those had been the very words he had wanted to say the second he'd entered the room and saw Malfoy sitting there, with the black silk mask folded onto his lap. And now he had said them, and there was no turning back. Suddenly, Harry needed to get some air because he was sure the intensity of Malfoy's grey gaze was trying to crush his chest.

So that's what he did. One last look at Malfoy was all Harry could give him before he turned his back on the blond man and strode out of the room. Malfoy was calling his name, faintly, disappearing as he had done once before. And Harry wanted to go back there, but knew it would do more worse than good. He had learned to have a clean start after the war, and Draco Malfoy was part of his past and that's where he should have stayed.

****

Harry told himself that he absolutely didn't need a reason for doing this. People tried new things, there was nothing bad about that, was it? No, but when you buy a hundred French films and watch all of them in a span of two weeks, your best friends and your girlfriend Ginny might think so. Harry didn't though, he liked French films now, as none could have imagined Ginny would ever like ballet once. He didn't know what all the fuss was about, it was a beautiful language. So here he was, nursing his beer bottle and watching some 1950's romantic French film. With the subtitles on, of course. Although Harry was picking some words up, and wouldn't be too adverse to take some French classes in the near future.

He heard the sound of Ginny's keys rattling on the hallway and a few seconds later the door was opened. Harry saw her bright red hair out of the corner of his eye, but turned his eyes off the TV screen when a black box was put in front of him onto the coffee table.

"Ran into the mailman outside. It's for you," she informed him. "I'll go take a shower, what's for dinner?"

"Takeaway," Harry replied, distracted. He grabbed the remote and hit the pause button, then picked up the box. It was a medium-sized one, black with a golden ribbon. The little note attached to it only said 'to Harry Potter' in an elegant handwriting. Harry didn't bother to check it for curses, and soon found out that he hadn't needed to.

The black silk mask greeted him with what seemed very much like a punch in the gut. One of the good ones, at least, if such a thing was possible. Harry took it out of the box as if it was a porcelain doll, and smiled when he found another little note hidden below. This time, the elegant handwriting felt like a caress to his heart.

'It was a magical night for me too. Here's something to remember me by,

D.M.'

'Oh yes', Harry thought, 'you bet I will, Malfoy'.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated, as always. For those who wanted to know: Draco was dancing to "Nocturne Op. 9" by Chopin, hence the title. Enjoy!


End file.
